It makes me like her even more.

Ryke talks loudly so his voice is heard through the speakerphone. “She’s upset. Her backpack tore while paparazzi were around us, and tampons fell out.”

Every time he says tampons, so casually, my heart nosedives all over again.

“Willow,” Rose says sternly. “Can you hear me?”

“It wasn’t just one,” I say under my breath. “It was an entire box…”

Lo puts his phone closer to his lips. “Did you get that?”

“Yes,” Rose says. “Willow, most women have a period. We buy tampons or pads or other products. I personally like to be overprepared too. And if anyone—a cameraman, a peer, a stranger—makes you feel strange or uncomfortable for having seen you with them, then just know that they’re boys, not men. They’re infantile, little human beings that can’t appreciate or respect a woman’s body. And in no way should they even touch one.” I begin to smile and she adds, “I have to go—no not yellow polish. I’m not a sunflower—”

She hangs up or maybe Lo does, either way—my shoulders have unconsciously lifted, my hands flat on my legs. I feel a little less numb, a little more awake.

I’ve never been given a motivational, encouraging speech in my life. The best part: knowing someone cares about me enough to give one. I realize that Ryke and Loren must’ve understood what Rose’s response would be in this situation.

It’s a bigger indication that they’re all really close to each other.

“Thanks for calling Rose,” I tell them.

They don’t ask if I feel better, but I think they both can see that I am.

I stand up to check my laptop, which rests on a box. “You don’t have to stay. I know I’ve taken up most of your time today already.”

“We won’t be that much longer,” Lo says, “but I just…I need to tell you something. I just want to explain what happened. I know you probably read it online, but I think you should have our details.”

I gather my laptop and then plop back down on the mattress. “Okay…” I think I know what this is about.

Someone broke into their house a few nights ago.

And I’ve been scared to broach the subject with Loren. It seems so personal, and I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to bring it up since I lie on the fringes of their lives.

Ryke crosses his arms, casually leaning against the wall, unsurprised that Lo wants to talk about it with me.

Loren drags the desk chair closer to the bed and takes a seat, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together. He stares at them for a long moment, just as I’ve stared at my own in dazed contemplation. The familiar action seems to bind us together, an invisible tether that’s strung between siblings, here and there.

He lifts his head a fraction, just so our eyes lock. His gaze carries horrors and tribulations, I see. His gaze carries more than I’ve met. “Some guys around your age that live in our gated neighborhood,” he begins, “they broke into our house. Everyone’s fine.” He adds that part quickly but his gaze falls back to his hands.